No More Lone Nights
by eriririri
Summary: Oz seems to be fighting depression. Will he suffer alone or reach out for help? Will he not bother to reach out, when finally, Gilbert comes to his aid?


A/N: I got this done in the span of a day. Basically, Oz is fighting depression. The rest is pretty simple to figure out. If I made typos, I'm sorry. Just tell me and I'll work it out. Okay. So. I've kinda been in a depressed mood lately. Not a lot of people can tell, because I hide my feelings so damn well. But in this fanfiction, Oz is feeling what I'm feeling. Thinking what I'm thinking. Everything, the nightmares, the crying, the thoughts, that is all personally from me. In a way, I made my own feelings and problems into a fanfiction and in this fanfiction, this is what I feel like and this is something I desire to not have another lone night. I hope you enjoy it..

WARNING: Contains Not Yaoi/Shounen-Ai. But BOY FLUFF. Don't like? Go back. Like it? Well, enjoy!

Everyday was virtually the same for Oz Vessalius. Get up, get dressed, brush teeth, comb hair. Walk down the stairs and into the dining room, eat breakfast and see if Break needed any help with Pandora related work. As it was usually a no, the blonde would wonder around the manor grounds until he grew tired.

He kept to himself, usually, though he knew fully well that Ada, Oscar, Alice, or even Gilbert would be more than happy to keep him company. Even so, that didn't stop him from shutting himself off from others.

Usually, Oz would gather around crowds and be the center of attention, flirt with every cute girl he saw and even glance at a few good-looking guys. Then, out of no where, something went wrong.

He didn't know for sure what exactly happened. It was like, one day, suddenly, someone extinguished the fire within him. His smiles came more hard to come by. His presense departed the crowds and his closest and dearest friends. His words soon vanished until he wasn't sure if he could speak happily again.

Then the nightmares came in. They were dark and frightening, targetting the areas that Oz tried to avoid the most. Losing loved ones. Watching their deaths. Not being able to help. Sometimes, in those hellish dreams, he would be falling. Reaching as he fell. Trying to grasp something, anything, though in his dismal dreams he knew there was nothing to hold onto, nothing he could possibly cling to.

He tried his best not to shed any tears. Some would slip through his eyelids, falling before he could catch them and seal them away. Over and over, he demanded the tears to not fall. Some obeyed. Some were rebellious.

Then the disheartening thoughts clouded his mind, took over his brain. Thoughts that made him want to give in, made him want to curl up in a tight ball and forget the whole world. Thoughts no one should agree with. "You're worthless, aren't you?" "Why are you alive?" "Does anyone really, truly care?" "Think carefully about that answer." "No one cares." "It's a blissing you are so quiet nowadays." "Are you even loved?"

He tried his best not to give into those thoughts. But the metal sheilds in his minds began to crack, and soon the thoughts would slowly but surely make their way into his mind once more. Over and over, he built those sheilds again. Over and over, they cracked and shattered and were dust in the contours of his mind.

Then the time came where his tears held out by nighttime. Quietly, he tried to cry, silently wiping the tears from his cheeks and the ones that rolled down to his chin, taking the curve. Watching as they fell to the pillow, on his blanket, in his lap, in the palms of his hands.

He tried his best to be quiet, silent, nothing but a wisp of the wind at nighttime. Clamping his lips shut so no sounds escaped, pulling his pillow of his head as he sniffed. His hand would restlessly pull his blonde bangs back from his forehead and eyes, not wanting to disturb the flow of tears. Becoming still and errily silent when he heard someone walk past his bedroom door.

And, when the morning rolled around the corner, he would go down to breakfast, ignoring the puffiness of his eyes and the tired and weak feeling that continued to wash over him. He didn't twitch at all when he felt the stares of the others linger on his face.

He would try to act as happy as possible, for the sake of Gilbert and Alice, his two closest friends. They noticed his sudden change in mood, of course, but neither of them sad anything in fear of hurting him or upsetting him. Oz knew that, yes, but somehow he couldn't help but get even sadder because of the fact they didn't question him about it.

Or, something like this would happen, as it did a few days ago:

"Oz, you're okay right? I'm a little worried," Gilbert told him, looking down at him. His lips pursed and an eyebrow raised, he felt Oz's forehead to see if he had a fever.

Oz forced a smile, his stomach churning as he looked up at his valet's concerned face. He lifted a hand, though it drained whatever energy he had left to push that soft, warm hand away. "I'm fine, Gil. Don't worry about it," he told him, forcing that smile to grow wider.

Gil huffed a sigh, taking a step away from his master. "Well, okay. If you're really alright." And with that, he turned and walked away, saying that he was sorry, but he needed to get some Pandora paperwork done.

The blonde knew he shouldn't have felt, if possible, more saddened by Gilbert's immediate understandment. Maybe it was because, as always, Gil would stick by his side and comfort him, let him talk if he needed to, be there with him to make sure he didn't cry?

Then there was Alice. She didn't particuarlly do anything. She acted the same as normal, eating her meat and going about the day. She did talk to Oz, but nothing too serious, never asking how he was or if he wanted to spend the day together.

The same with the others. Ada was busy with school, of course, but she would always find time to be with her brother. Oscar had Pandora duties to go to, but he as well would make time. Break was a servant, not particuarlly a friend, but somehow a friend as well. Sharon was also busy with Pandora, visiting her sick grandmother, and among othert things, she did paperwork for her household.

Perhaps the thoughts are true, he would tell himself. Maybe, in the back of my mind, I have always known, he would admit to himself.

For how long all of that continued, he didn't know. No one did. It was the same, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, second after second.

Until a particular night.

The day that arrived before that particular night was the same as ever. Get up. Get dressed. Brush teeth, comb hair. Down the stairs. Into the dining room. Eat breakfast. Wander around the house. Out the front double doors. Into the warm breeze, the soft green grass. Walk the grounds, inhale the scent of grass and flowers. Let the mind wonder and the muscles relax.

The hours felt like the flew by that day for the blonde boy, and when dusk was finally approuching, he huffed a sigh and slowly walked his way through the grass. Once on the front steps, he stood, motionlessly, in front of the double doors. He didn't realize he'd been there until night had completely fallen.

He pushed the doors open, tramped his way up the stairs, down the halls, until he came across his door. He narrowed his eyes, tried to mentally ready himself for the night, and pushed open his bedroom door.

After half an hour, he was ready for bed or, in his case, the countless throughts that swarmed his mind, the tears that he somehow can't control, the nightmares he startles himself away from.

He crawled into bed. Turned out the light. Huddled up on his side, curled into a ball, and tried to distract himself until the feelings and thoughts became too strong. One tear. Five. Sixteen. Countless. He rolled over restlessly, not bothering to wipe any of the waterworks away.

That's when he realized that Gilbert, his valet, his best friend, was standing next to the side of the bed. The blonde gasped in utter surprise, scrambling up on his knees and moving to the farthest edge of the bed.

They both stared at each other for a long time, golden yellow eyes boring into emerald green, as they listened to their breathing. Oz's gagged breathing; Gilbert's smooth breathing.

"Oz."

The boy jumped when the raven whispered his name, twitching the slightest in guilt. The guilt was for something he didn't understand. Perhaps not reaching out to his friend when all of this first began? All those weeks ago.

"Yes?" Oz mumbled, barely audible, as he was still crying.

"Why hadn't you ever told me?" Gilbert whispered, crawling his way across to him on the bed. Oz immediately scooted himself off the bed so he stood just as Gilbert did on the other side. But Gil continued to edge his way to Oz, until he was just in front of him; that is, Oz standing in front of him next to the edge of the bed while Gilbert stood on his knees on the bed in front of Oz.

Oz was silent. The tears, though not as many now, still glided down his pale cheeks. Gilbert sighed, and decided to continue:

"You never told me. Why? Because you can't trust me? I asked you, Oz, if anything was bothering you. You seemed so sad, so depressed, so out of it. I was worried. Concerned. You've never really been like this before. Watching you, seeing you like this, it had me baffled. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't get to my work properly, couldn't not get distracted by how... depressed you've been. Don't act like I didn't notice, either."

Oz didn't know what to say. The turn of... events, for lack of better work, left him so speechless that he wanted to hear Gilbert's words again. He glanced up at his valet, noticing the look on his face. That looked said the he didn't know what to do.

Gilbert sighed, leaning away from Oz the tiniest bit. "Do you want my company? As your valet and best friend, I might add I'll be beside you no matter what. That is, if you want me to be."

Oz fidgeted the tiniest bit, not knowing what to say. As he hadn't really used his voice or mouth to speak that much the last couple of weeks, it seemed like he had forgotten how to use them. The words. His speech. The formation of words against his lips.

At his masters silence, Gilbert sighed again. "I really would rather... stay. But as... you... it seems..." he shook his head, backing away from Oz.

Suddenly, Oz jumped forward, struck by the intense fear that this would be the last time Gilbert would try to reach out to him, to see if anything is wrong. He gripped Gil's forearm with such force that it seemed impossible, considering his depression and lack of doing anything at all.

"Gil..." Oz whispered, slowly finding his voice. He knelt on the bed, next to Gilbert, and comfortably sat next to him. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me, really. It was so sudden, so random, that I couldn't stop it." Gil's delicate fingers found Oz's cheek, wiping away a tear that escaped his eye.

"It's okay, Oz. You know that I am here for you, right?" Gil tilted his head, planting a light kiss on his masters cheek. He leaned back into the bed, coazing Oz into laying next to him.

"Yes," Oz whispered, smiling a real smile for the first time in weeks.

At that, they both drifted off to sleep, secure that they care, love, and worry for each other. Night after night, Gilbert went into Oz's room. Slipped into bed with him, but only to sleep. To make sure Oz gradually grew happy again, to make sure to nightmares slowly vanish; to make sure not another tear is shed in the lonely hours of the night.

And most important of all, every single night, there were no more lone nights. Not a single one. 


End file.
